


Crowley's Pumpkin Tales

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Copious amounts of pumpkin guts, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Halloween Costumes, M/M, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pumpkin carving, Pumpkins, Sharing A Cottage, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), but the non-spooky kind, halloween fic, somewhat Flufftober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley share a cottage and celebrate Halloween.A series of fluffly stories triggered by or based on Crowley's attempts at pumpkin carving and Aziraphale's search for the right costume.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There won't be much plot, just fluff during the spooky times. I can't promise daily updates, tho. This is a bit for indulgence's sake.
> 
> I don't own the characters, just the mistakes. 😅 We don't really celebrate Halloween and never have I picked and/or carved pumpkins. These are all just my fantasies, so please don't judge.
> 
> The beginning includes [this prompt](https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/615424155169456128/person-a-im-so-tired-person-b-you-can-get) from Tumblr.

The door to the bookshop tinkled despite the lateness of the hour and the actual fact that Aziraphale was certain he had locked the thing before retreating to the back room with a good book. He rose - not to check the front of the shop, but to ferret out a bottle of wine and two glasses from his liquor cabinet. He popped the cork off just as a dejected-looking demon let himself fall face-first unto the battered sofa.

"I'm so tired," came his muffled voice.

"You can get some sleep if you want," Aziraphale filled their glasses and set one at grabbing distance from Crowley's hand. It won't be the first time the demon moped in his back room.

“...It's not that type of tired," the red-head surfaced from the pillows.

"Have you been busy throwing a number of temptations about?" The last he heard from the demon was July. There was no accusation in his tone, simply shop talk. Retired agents, they may be, but they couldn't very well deny their natures. So, they promised to do both tempting and blessing to offset whatever force of the universe they've been dancing to for the last couple of millennia.

"Nah. Everything’s too dismally… dismal." he replied, finally snatching his wine from the coffee table. "Hell even sent me a strongly worded note to stop whatever I've been doing a while back. And I was asleep the whole time!"

"Still, a good rest might help put things in better perspective." The demon grunted and simply took the blankets draped across the sofa and cocooned himself. Aziraphale patted the lump tenderly as he stood to tidy up, an inkling of how best to address Crowley's dilemma at such restricting times taking shape in his mind.

* * *

Crowley woke to the smell of coffee and the angel’s footfalls in the flat above him. He stretched and took in his surroundings. Dust motes were bobbing lazily in the weak morning light. His glasses were folded neatly by the corner table and he was wrapped in the

"Angel?" he called climbing the steps to the flat. He found him in the kitchen fussing over a large hamper. He could see bottles of wine, sandwiches, pastries, a tartan thermos and a sleek black one. The last he was filling with the coffee that woke him. He stared at his best friend’s outfit. Gone was the waistcoat but he was bundled in a sweater of the same color. The pair of slacks were replaced with thick corduroy trousers. It was the most casual he’d seen him. And it suited him well.

"Oh! Good morning, my dear!" Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to smile at him.

“Going on a picnic?” he inquired, taking the mug of the same coffee the angel offered.

“I was hoping you would join me. Perhaps a change of scenery would do us both some good.”

“I have nothing better to do,” the demon shrugged. Change? So it won’t be just his wardrobe, then? he thought to himself.

“Excellent!” the angel beamed. “Now, perhaps you should find something warm to wear, dear boy, and perhaps something waterproof as well. The wind could get a bit nippy and the weather unknown. I’d save my miracles to keep our wine cool and nibbles fresh - which I shall bring down to the Bentley.”

Crowley simply stood there by the table, eyes wide and curious. The angel was up to something. He knew better than to ask. Aziraphale liked his surprises, especially when he was the one making them. He hummed, grinning at the blonde’s retreating back.

All his glum thoughts the night before had receded to give way to pleasant anticipation. The angel wasn’t one to suggest a drive and he’d be blessed if he lets the opportunity slip. He finished off his coffee quickly and snapped to change out of his sleeped in clothes and into something still stylish yet as casual as his friend’s.

Minutes later, they were zooming away from London and into the Sussex countryside. The angel gave him directions, making sure to keep their destination as secret as possible. It kept him from complaining about his driving. The demo, to keep him distracted, tried to get as much information as he could, pouting and grumbling in turns although he didn’t really needed to know. He was content with hearing Aziraphale’s laughter over the engine’s purring and he didn’t mind if they spent the whole day that way.

“Ah, here we are!” the blonde announced.

Crowley looked out as he slowed the Bentley to a stop. He hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were going trusting the car to get them home when needed so it took him a while to parse out the sign before them.

“A- a pumpkin patch?” he managed to choke out. “You brought me to a pumpkin patch?”

“Well, I knew you were bored and we’re too familiar with London so perhaps any outing I drag you to wouldn’t help since we’ve gone to most those places more than once in the centuries we’ve spent there. And I remember you admiring the decorations every year and I wondered if you’d like to make your own this time around,” Aziraphale explained. “But of course, if you’d rather not, we could always go straight to the National Park,” he added hastily.

“Yes! Er, I mean no - I mean,” Crowley rubbed his face trying to keep his excitement in check. He had helped popularize the tradition. It was destructive, it was messy, it was frustrating and all the sharp pointy things needed to do it all made it very dangerous. Or at least that was what he put in his reports. The truth was that he was amazed at what humans could create with a simple gourd and wanted to see more. He had never truly tried it, despite being a fan. With all the occult activities during the season, Hell was kept busy. It would be a new experience, a very _human_ experience, he wagered. But that was the best part of being with Aziraphale - they could enjoy being human. He looked over at the angel trying to hide the hope in his patient gaze.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

* * *

The air was crisp and cool as Aziraphale trailed after the slithering red-bellied snake, wheelbarrow in hand. It was filling up faster than he’d anticipated and they had already filled two crates but he couldn’t refuse picking up the ones Crowley had eagerly pointed to. The demon had tired of bending down to examine the pumpkins so decided to transform into his serpent form instead. Tail thumping the orange globes as he passed them, searching for soft spots and finding none. No self-respecting plant would disappoint him.

“Crowley! You really must be careful my dear,” he called at the demon’s bobbing head. He wasn’t truly worried for it took but a minor miracle to make them unnoticeable from the rest of the pickers. It was simply gave him a tingly feeling to find the snake turn it’s head to look back with such a gleeful expression. It was the happiest he’d seen him that year.

For an angel to wish a demon happiness was absurd. To actively cause that happiness would surely taint him. And yet his wings were as white as when he had been created. He worried no more at toeing the line, he had leapt over it and left it behind as another thought crossed his mind.

When at last they sat for lunch in one of the little tables scattered about, he mused at how best to voice out his idea.

“You’re thinking again,” Crowley -back in his human form - stated evenly, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards, unable to restrain itself.

“Hmmm… quite right,” he began. “You see, I couldn’t help but notice your, I mean _our_ , purchases. And I do believe they might overrun your flat and my shop,” he grinned as Crowley flushed. They’ve gotten ten crates to account for.

“Yeah, er… we could just return some or give a few away…” he mumbled.

“After you’ve spent all that time picking them out?”

“Yeah, well what do you suggest?” he countered.

“It would be a shame to keep your work hidden after all the effort you’ve put in them.”

“Yeah, can’t do that in London,” he sighed, chin landing on crossed arms.

“Yes, we’ll need a front lawn to keep them…” he trailed off eyes locking with Crowley’s as the red-head slid his glasses off.

“Are you..?” his voice was soft, eyes full of wonder, curiosity and the tiniest traces of anxiety.

“It needn’t be permanent. There are a few properties around here that are for rent. Offers of a good vacation spot away from the city. Little villages that would grant us peace and quiet. The coast is nearby as well. Lovely spot for a walk…” he prattled on, heart growing heavy with each second that ticked by.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley shushed him, a smirk gracing his face. “You take me out on one date and now you’re asking me to look at cottages with you?”

The angel reddened but kept his head held high. “What if I am?”

Crowley reddened in response, and cleared his throat. “You’d do that for me?” he whispered to himself.

“For the pumpkins, dear,” the blonde said, hearing his murmurs. “Goodness knows what your lot would think if they hear how an angel spoils you.” He smiled as the other snorted in agreement.

“Well, finish your lunch and we’ll get a wiggle on,” the demon smiled back.


	2. Pumpkin 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flufftober Day 1: Touch  
> GOtober Day 1: In the beginning
> 
> I changed the rating to T for all the drinking and swear words Crowley won't be able to keep from uttering. XD

Crowley glared at the orange clump in front of him, fingers drumming on the tabletop. He was seated in the cottage kitchen, the pumpkin carving kit they bought spread out by his hand. Pumpkin guts were strewn over the newspaper he laid to keep the mess contained. He had been so excited to start. Even woke up just after sunrise when he would usually peek out from under his covers just before noon. He sighed heavily and slumped further in his seat.

“Stumped, dear?” Aziraphale asked, walking in with the groceries. “Well, at least you were able to pick one.” The angel had watched him muddle through their crates of pumpkins in their back porch for hours before leaving him to gather apples from the tree in the back. It was one of the features that helped them decide to get the place.

“I’ve seen a million different faces carved on them that I can’t decide which one to do first!” he groaned. “It was a horrible idea to open Pinterest.”

“I don’t know what this Pinterest is, but I’m sure you’ll manage,” he patted his hand on the table before setting his basket of fruit aside.

Crowley stared at his hand, he could still feel the angel’s warm palm from the brief contact. It always felt like a shock to him when they touched. He had once been curious if skin to skin contact with an angel would destroy him the same way holy water would. What else could be holier than an angel of the Lord? But that was before Eden. Before a wing surreptitiously pulled him closer to the other's warmth to keep him safe from the first storm on Earth. He'd been hungering for that warmth ever since.

After the botched Apocalypse, he had been treated to more lingering brushes on his arms or shoulders. It was bloody marvelous progress, he'd admit, but he won’t push for more. If that was the outcome of regular dinners and walks in the park together as free agents for the first few months, more time alone with the angel would probably turn the tide in his favor. All he needed were more reasons to come see the angel. And he got his wish. Aziraphale was the one who had pitched, and acted on, the idea of sharing a cottage where he could garden and mutilate pumpkins to his heart’s content. He wasn't sure if She answered his prayers or just his luck. Either way he's not complaining.

He liked to think of it being the beginning of their new life together. Something that was their old routine but _new_ , in the sense that he won't be alone in actively seeking to further whatever relationship they had.

He turned his head to watch his housemate. Aziraphale had taken some of the apples to wash and cut them into slices, humming all the while. The angel was brushing up on his cooking skills after the success of his baking marathon and was filled with delight at every new recipe he came across. He would run delicate fingers over the words as if they were as precious as his most prized manuscripts. Crowley dreamed of the same caress trailing his face. Hopefully within the next century. In the meantime, he was content with the little looks the angel shoots him with at times. One glance can hold him, utterly imprisoned in shifting hazels, blues and grays.

“...what do you say, my dear?” the angel asks placing the plate of apples before him.

Too entranced by his musings, Crowley caught only the tail end of the angel’s question and couldn’t help but ask in confusion, “Wot?” Aziraphale looked back at him with an exasperated but fond smile.

“Goodness, you really must be out of sorts,” he chuckled. “Perhaps an extra pair of eyes could help. Once we’ve done with this pumpkin, perhaps you’d finally be able to give your input about dinner.”

“Alright,” the demon concedes as the angel took a seat beside him.

“What were your official plans, if you wouldn’t mind my asking?”

“I was thinking a face would do, but I can’t decide on what expression to make,” he grumbles.

“How about we start with a simple grin?” Aziraphale uncaps a marker, asking Crowley with a look, waiting for a nod, and began mapping out a jagged mouth and eyes on the pumpkin’s orange skin. He pushed it towards the red-head and gestured to the carving knife.

Crowley took the blade and gingerly pierced the gourd’s skin, careful to follow the lines the angel drew. He looks up as he finished his task and watched as the angel stilled, apple slice halfway to his lips. “D-does it look bad?” he asked, worried at the reaction.

“No…” the reply wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Just a tad, well, incomplete.” The angel’s eyes flit from Crowley’s face to the pumpkin, chewing a slice in contemplation.

“Yeah, well,” the demons flusters. “we need to put a candle in. It’ll look better that way,” he pushes things around to search for a stump.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” the blonde soothes.”I just feel like it’s missing - aha!” he cries.

Before Crowley could question his reaction, Aziraphale reaches out with gentle fingers to alight on the arms of his sunglasses. Slowly, with enough time for the demon to protest, he slips it off him. He shivers as a knuckle skims his cheekbone.

The angel doesn’t notice as he places the glasses over the pumpkin’s eyes with a giggle. He quickly carved out a pair of eyebrows, one cheekily higher than the other and beams at his friend. “There!” he announces with pride.

Golden snake eyes widened as they took in the sight of a very happy angel. He fought to keep the tidal wave of love from brimming over his face, especially with no dark lenses to hide behind. Though he couldn’t stop the soft smile playing at his lips.

“A little unfair, angel,” he teases. “If we’re playing this game, then I’m going to need something of yours.”

“I may have a spare bow tie for it,” he contemplates and laughs as Crowley sputters from the indignity.

“Tartan, really? Alongside _my_ glasses?” An unbidden image of both items laying side by side on the bedside table in his bedroom flashed in his mind’s eyes. Another shiver of want lanced through him. A whimper passed his lips just as the angel talked over him, saving him from having to explain the noise.

“I suppose you’d need something ‘cool’ for it,” Crowley could hear the quotation marks on the word and rolled his eyes, not trusting his voice just yet. The blonde stood up and with a flick of a hand, brought out a sword.

“Hold on, hold on…” Crowley jumped from his seat. “Is that -?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Just a replica,” he explained, setting the thing on fire - regular, not holy. “Felt rather guilty about the original and had a human make it centuries ago. I kept it in the ether - never had much use for it, I’m afraid.” He casually stuck it inside the hollowed out pumpkin, a tiny miracle ensuring the fire stays alight but burning nothing.

“That shouldn’t work, but it does,” Crowley hums and receives a snort in reply. They watched the flames flicker and it looked so oddly a mixture of mismatched and accurate in the middle of their kitchen that they couldn’t help but admire it.

“What do you think of your first jack-o-lantern,my dear?” Aziraphale asked after a minute, sidling in close.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You helped, remember?” he said, bumping their shoulders playfully.

“Our first, then.” The words spun a thousand possibilities nut Crowley managed to keep his composure this time. “You don’t mind my helping?” the angel looked up the scant few inches as he leaned against the other’s arm.

“This was your idea in the first place,” the red-head murmured. “And I would have just given up for the day if you hadn’t.”

“I’d be glad to help with the others as well. After dinner of course,” Aziraphale declared, reaching over to pluck a slice from the plate and taking a pointed bite of the apple.

“Of course,” the red-head replies, grabbing the snack from the angel’s fingers to pop into his mouth. “We can’t have you working on an empty stomach after all,” he continued after an audible swallow.

“You fiend,” Aziraphale whispers in mock offense, grinning uncontrollably. The disapproval Crowley expected never came. Instead he was gifted with a squeeze on his forearm, before the angel walked around him to hunt down his book of recipes.

The demon sent up a silent ‘thank you’ to Her, thinking nothing of it, before starting to tidy up the table. He was too occupied with his task that he misses the mayflowers blooming just outside their kitchen window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pumpkin shall be camping out in my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zephyrofalltrades). 😄


	3. Pumpkin 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flufftober Day 2: Ink  
> GOtober Day 2: Crepes and cocoa

There was a pyramid of newly carved pumpkins in the patio, waiting to be lit. Crowley hovered over them in satisfaction. After his initial foray, with Aziraphale’s help, he jumped into the task with new enthusiasm. His practice was paying off and was excited to show the angel the new lanterns.

Aziraphale had chatted with him amiably earlier in the day when the phone rang and the blonde shuffled away to answer it. There was the typical muffled conversation but it was followed with the angel poking his head out to tell him to give a shout if needed then ran off to the general vicinity of the bed rooms. There then came a steady rhythm of clunking sounds. Puzzled, Crowley sought it out. It came from the other side of the angel's bedroom door, accompanied by the exasperated sighs and general grumbling. He had knocked and asked if he could help with whatever the angel was doing. He caught a glimpse of scattered clothing from the partially opened door before being shooed away with a, “Just looking for something, I’ll be alright.”

It was as the shadows were lengthening when he heard the blonde’s distinct gait moving in his direction. Crowley glanced from his corner on the porch and yelped, scattering his pyramid and a few other pumpkins from a nearby pile. It took him a moment to realize the hooded figure looking down on him was the angel garbed in 15th century Spanish robes - burned, tattered, and heavily ink-stained.

“Angel! Don’t surprise me like that!” he sputtered. The blonde only laughed before he noticed the mess his little prank caused.

“Oh, poor things!” the angel shifted to crouch by the crushed pumpkins by his feet, inspecting them - taking note of which could be salvaged and offering an apology for those he could not.

“Aziraphale, why -?” he gestured at the ensemble with flapping hands and a few mostly consonant sounds he hoped made his sentiments known.

“Oh! This? Well, Mrs. Brommel from the Neighborhood Association asked us to wear costumes for the Trick or Treat event,” the angel wrinkled his nose. After the Not-Apocalypse, he’d been practicing on saying ‘no’ to busybody, authoritarian type individuals. This was not one of his more successful attempts. “She wants ‘participation’ from the household members handing out the sweets. Though we’ll be keeping our distance from the treat bags, they want us to at least wave at the passing children from the doorstep.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Crowley grinned. He had successfully tempted the village officials to give Halloween a try with the right system (along with a reassuring miracle or two) to keep the children and the other villagers safe. It was simple enough when everyone had months of being cooped up within the same four walls feeding boredom and annoyance in each household member. He shifted on his spot on the ground frowning as he felt the pulpy mush of pumpkin innards on his bum. “A little help, angel?” he asked, holding out an arm. Aziraphale just smirked and began picking up more of the scattered gourds.

“You’re still mad at me for leaving you that assignment aren’t you?” he huffed, trying to stand up and promptly falling back down. The glop beneath him was slippery and after a few more tries, he felt more like a slithering snake than when he was in his actual snake form.

“Well, it was burdensome with all the tortures and the screaming and the burning. I thought my hands would have ink on them for eternity,” he pouted. “I found myself actually working as a scribe, having no better things to do. My blessings and temptations just flew over their heads.”

Feeling the icky stuff hardening on his clothes, Crowley miracled the mess away and stood with his hands up in surrender. “I did say sorry. And I'll say it again - sorry,” he moved closer and relaxed when the angel helped smooth down his jacket lapels. "But I’ve got to say, you, prison and public executions is a recurring theme in human history.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was stubborn up to the last minute, so I was at fault as well. I was glad I managed to materialize in your private rooms despite my exhaustion,” he gave the demon a small but genuine smile. “But I’d have been safe that time, you know, if Gabriel hadn’t decided to pop down in all his angelic splendor,” he snorted. “Oh, you should have been there to see how big his eyes got when the mob rushed at us. He stuck to reprimanding me with letters after that.”

“The wanker,” Crowley growled. “Then again, I wasn’t any better,” he mumbled, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his, the way he did centuries ago. He could still remember the tar-black coating over them - dried ink and soot. His hands were the only things he dared look at as he used every bit of his energy to heal the angel’s cuts, bruises, and burns.

“Oh, my dear,” the angel squeezed his hands. “I'd pick you over Gabriel any day," they both grinned at each other. "But now, I believe it's my turn to apologize. Seems I rather ruined your pumpkins.”

“Eh, I’m sure we can still make use of them," he turned to brush dirt off the heap the angel set aside. "Got anything in those recipe books of yours?”

The angel’s eyes twinkled. “What do you say to some pumpkin crêpes?”

“Dressed like that?” Crowley laughed, remembering a similar conversation from a long time ago.

The angel removed his robe and his trusty button up and khaki trousers were revealed underneath. Tossing the garment aside, they headed in to make a mess of their kitchen counter top. They re-emerged from the cottage with a picnic blanket, their servings of crêpes and mugs of cocoa. They talked the night away as they ate beneath the pale moon and the warm, orange glow of the surviving jack-o-lanterns.

**Author's Note:**

> The art is my work, so please don't repost without permission/credit.
> 
> But you can reblog it from my Tumblr: zephyrofalltrades.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
